Do We Learn Moral Values from the Torah? (Column 685)
In several past columns I addressed the question of the relationship between halakha and morality. The claim was that morality is the will of God, but it constitutes a category separate from halakha. God’s will is composed of these two components: halakha and morality. See, for example, column 541. This gives rise to the question: from where do we learn morality? First, we have the conscience imprinted within us that guides our moral decisions. Second, the Torah itself contains non-legal parts, and the common view is that, among other things, they are meant to teach us moral values.
In column 621 I discussed the division of the Torah into these two categories, and argued that morality, by definition, is universal. I claimed there that there is no such thing as “Jewish morality.” Still, even if morality is universal, in principle one could learn it from the Torah. Moreover, it seems that historically the Torah indeed served as a primary source that influenced moral conceptions in the West (also through Christianity). Is that still the case today? Can we, today, learn morality from the Torah? Do we in fact do so? The same question arises with regard to the aggadot of Ḥazal. In columns 214, 285, 398, and many more, I argued that we do not really learn moral values from the non-legal parts of the Torah, nor from the aggadot. Even when one of us “finds” some moral value, it is always a value that fits one’s prior conceptions. When there is a mismatch between what we find in the Torah and moral values, this becomes a Torah-and-morality question, and we always seek some reconciliation so that the passage will align with the moral values. In other words, the source of moral values is not the Torah; the opposite is the case: the source is within us, and we adapt the Torah to our values.
Let me sharpen this further. If we saw the Torah as a source that teaches us moral values, then when we believe in value X and extract from some biblical passage the conclusion “not-X,” we ought to change our prior values and adopt what we found in the Torah. The conclusion should be that we were mistaken and that value X is unworthy. But in practice, when people approach an aggadic topic or a biblical passage, at most they load onto it their moral beliefs and then interpret it (sometimes forcedly) so that it accords with them. The upshot is that we always learn morality from our conscience, and only retroactively fit the Torah to it. The Torah is not a source for learning moral values.
In this week’s parashah there is an excellent example of this claim, and therefore I found it appropriate to revisit this much-beaten topic.
Introduction: The Non-Legal Parts of the Torah as a Source for Moral Values
In column 621 I cited Rashi’s very first comment on the Torah, which brings R. Yitzḥak’s question:
“Bereishit — R. Yitzḥak said: The Torah should have begun only from (Exodus 12:2) ‘This month shall be for you,’ which is the first commandment given to Israel. So why does it begin with ‘In the beginning’?”
It is not for nothing that Rashi chose to preface his entire exegetical enterprise with precisely this question. The principal lesson that emerges from it is actually the assumption embedded in the question, not the answer. R. Yitzḥak assumes that the first one and a quarter ḥumashim are superfluous and that their appearance in the Torah requires explanation. The reason is that with the section “This month shall be for you” the legal part of the Torah begins. Rashi himself explains: “for it is the first commandment given to Israel.” That is, R. Yitzḥak assumes that the Torah, in its essence, was meant to include only commandments (halakha). “Torah” is from “hora’ah” (instruction); its core is law. Everything beyond that is not self-evident and needs justification.
If we move to R. Yitzḥak’s answer, it seems partial and lacking (and rather weak):
“Because (Psalms 111:6) ‘He declared the power of His works to His people, to give them the heritage of nations’ — so that if the nations of the world say to Israel, ‘You are robbers, for you conquered the lands of the seven nations,’ they will say to them: ‘All the earth belongs to the Holy One, blessed be He; He created it and gave it to whomever was right in His eyes. By His will He gave it to them, and by His will He took it from them and gave it to us.’”
According to him, the first one and a quarter ḥumashim appear in the Torah only to equip us with a weapon for a future debate with the nations, who will claim that we stole the land from the seven peoples who dwelt there (=the Palestinians?). The answer is that the Holy One is the owner, and therefore it is His right to give the land to whomever He chooses. Convinced? Do you now understand why for thousands of years we drill the entire book of Genesis into our poor children? I must say that to me this is not especially convincing, and apparently the Palestinians are not especially persuaded either (yes, I too know the vort that “He declared the power of His works to His people” means the message is intended primarily for us, not for them). But let’s set aside the flimsiness of this answer and focus on its content. That, too, is very puzzling. At best, R. Yitzḥak’s words explain the appearance of the first chapter of Genesis, the one that describes creation itself. God created the world and thus has the right to give any part of it to whomever He wishes. But what about the rest of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus? What about all the narrative parts of the Torah? What is R. Yitzḥak’s explanation for their appearance?
It seems to me that Rashi himself felt this difficulty and hinted at a broader answer when he wrote “to whomever is upright in His eyes.” If the Torah contained only chapter 1 (the account of creation), then the argument would be a force-of-law claim: God is the owner because He created the land (He has “copyright” on it), and thus He may give it to whomever He wants. But God also wished to equip us with a moral-value justification — a real rationale. He wishes to show that the decision to give us the land is not arbitrary (even though such a decision would also be His right). The land is coming to us because we are upright in His eyes. When Rashi writes “to whomever is upright (yashar) in His eyes,” there is more than a hint that Genesis is called by Ḥazal “Sefer ha-Yashar,” the “Book of the Upright” (see Avodah Zarah 25a). In the Netziv’s introduction to his commentary Ha‘amek Davar on the Torah, he explains that it is so called because that book is intended to teach us the uprightness and morality that preceded the giving of the Torah. It is “the book of the upright,” i.e., of the Patriarchs who were upright. If so, the purpose of the book is to show that they conducted themselves ethically and morally even before they were commanded — and that is what Genesis describes.
On this reading, Rashi’s words indeed provide an explanation for the appearance of everything prior to “This month shall be for you.” To win the argument with the wicked nations, it does not suffice to describe creation and assert a force-of-law claim. The Torah must also include the “Book of the Upright,” i.e., the entire process up to the Exodus in Parashat Bo, because in addition to the force-based claim it must demonstrate two further things: (a) that our forefathers were upright and that the land is theirs by right (whereas, as is known, the seven nations were not, “for the iniquity of the Amorite is not yet complete”); it is no accident that R. Moshe Ḥayyim Luzzatto’s ethical work is titled Mesillat Yesharim (“Path of the Upright”) — uprightness is an expression of morality. That is the moral lesson. (b) It must also show our historical unfolding from them — that we are their descendants who inherit, by right, what they received from God. That is the historical lesson. It is no accident that there is a medieval anonymous work on the history of humanity and our people titled Sefer ha-Yashar. That follows from Genesis’s second message, the historical message.
Through all this, Genesis is meant to teach us — and the whole world — what it means to be upright. That is, it is not merely an answer in a polemic over the right to the land, but a source that teaches us, via that polemic, values of morality and uprightness. Perhaps that is the principal lesson we are to derive from Genesis and from the non-legal parts of the Torah. Rashi, at the very beginning of his commentary, comes to teach us that the Torah is actually divided into two parts, with the watershed between them in the section “This month” in Parashat Bo: up to “This month” it is a book whose purpose is moral and historical; from “This month” on, it is a book whose core is halakha (of course, historical and moral components are appended there as well).
I explained in that column that the distinction between these two parts is not only historical or textual. It has substantive significance for our own day. What emerges is that these are two independent parts of the Torah: on the one hand, halakha, which is the particularist part; and on the other, morality and values (I am setting aside history, which is of course a separate part), which are universal. Many tend to see halakha as an expression of “Jewish morality,” but I have often argued that this involves a double mistake: (a) there is no such animal as “Jewish morality” — morality, by definition, is universal and binds all human beings; (b) morality and halakha are two independent categories. Halakha does not concern itself with morality, and vice versa; they are transparent to one another. In this column I wish to discuss a third layer to this structure, and argue that in practice we do not in fact learn moral values from the Torah. Not only are they universal and not only do they not arise from halakha and are unconnected to it; we actually derive them from ourselves and not from the Torah — just as God expects of the nations, that they understand them and act upon them even without studying Torah. If the nations can, presumably we can as well.
These points have angered, and still anger, not a few listeners. Seemingly, this renders that part of the Torah empty of content and devoid of value to study. So why was it written? How am I to understand Rashi’s words cited above? These are excellent questions, and I do not have an answer. But the fact is that we — including those who protest against me — do not learn morality from the Torah. I will now bring one example of many.
Joseph’s Actions as Viceroy of Egypt: Two Moral Problems
In a Midah Tovah essay for Parashat Vayigash (5767), I discussed Joseph’s socio-economic policy during the years of famine in Egypt. The account appears in Genesis 47:13–26:
“Now there was no bread in all the land, for the famine was very severe, so that the land of Egypt and the land of Canaan languished because of the famine. Joseph gathered all the money that was found in the land of Egypt and in the land of Canaan for the grain that they were buying, and Joseph brought the money into Pharaoh’s house. When the money was spent in the land of Egypt and in the land of Canaan, all the Egyptians came to Joseph and said, ‘Give us bread; why should we die in your presence, for the money is gone!’ And Joseph said, ‘Give your livestock, and I will give you bread in exchange for your livestock, if the money is gone.’ So they brought their livestock to Joseph, and Joseph gave them bread in exchange for the horses, the flocks, the cattle, and the donkeys; and he provided them with bread in exchange for all their livestock that year. When that year ended, they came to him the second year and said to him, ‘We cannot conceal from my lord that our money is spent, and the herds of livestock belong to my lord; nothing is left before my lord but our bodies and our land. Why should we die before your eyes — both we and our land? Buy us and our land for bread, and we and our land will be slaves to Pharaoh; give seed so that we may live and not die, and that the land may not lie desolate.’ So Joseph bought all the land of Egypt for Pharaoh, for the Egyptians sold every man his field, because the famine was severe upon them; thus the land became Pharaoh’s. And the people he resettled in the cities, from one end of Egypt’s border to the other. Only the land of the priests he did not buy, for the priests had an allotment from Pharaoh, and they ate their allotment that Pharaoh gave them; therefore they did not sell their land. Then Joseph said to the people, ‘Behold, I have bought you and your land today for Pharaoh. Here is seed for you, and you shall sow the land. And at the harvests you shall give a fifth to Pharaoh, and four parts shall be yours for seed of the field, and for your food, and for those in your households, and to feed your little ones.’ And they said, ‘You have saved our lives; may we find favor in the eyes of my lord, and we will be slaves to Pharaoh.’ And Joseph made it a statute to this day concerning the land of Egypt, that Pharaoh should have the fifth; only the land of the priests alone did not become Pharaoh’s.”
Joseph controls the food stores and granaries that were collected during the years of plenty, and now the residents of Egypt buy grain from him with money. After the money runs out, they hand over their livestock and beasts; afterward, their lands; and finally he buys them themselves. This remains the situation for generations to come. Joseph essentially takes advantage of the population’s dire state and uses it to enslave them and all their property to the king. This immediately evokes questions of price-gouging and hoarding produce — exploiting famine in order to amass wealth. Indeed, R. Ahai, author of the She’iltot, discusses this topic in She’iltah 32, related to this parashah.
Beyond that, in verse 21 the Torah describes Joseph as relocating the local population:
“And the people he resettled in the cities, from one end of Egypt’s border to the other.”
And Rashi there explains:
“‘He resettled the people’ — Joseph moved them from city to city, as a reminder that they no longer had a portion in the land, and he settled the residents of one city in another. The verse did not need to state this, except to make known Joseph’s praise — that he intended to remove disgrace from his brothers, so that people would not call them ‘exiles.’”
“‘From one end of Egypt’s border…’ — so he did to all the cities under the Egyptian kingdom, from one end of its border to the other.”
It is not entirely clear how these two explanations in the first Rashi relate. From the first, it seems that this mass relocation was intended to prevent revolt and to rule with an iron hand over the suffering populace — as tyrants have always done. But the second explanation is even more troubling: Joseph exiles all the inhabitants of Egypt and mixes their places only so that his brothers will not feel like the only exiles in the land. To improve the situation of his twelve brothers and their families, he carries out a mass population transfer affecting multitudes of Egyptians. Note that, in the midrash and in Rashi who cites it, this is said in Joseph’s praise. It seems they do not even feel there is any moral problem in such a dreadful step, and certainly do not trouble themselves to justify or comment upon it.
Thus we have two very severe moral problems: exploiting distress and price-gouging, and a mass population transfer of the entire citizenry aimed at improving the lot of the ruler’s family. Is this morally reasonable? Would you recommend that we all adopt Joseph’s policy — i.e., learn these moral “values” from our parashah?
The Prohibition of Price-Gouging and Hoarding Produce, and the Problem with Joseph’s Actions
The source of this prohibition is in Bava Batra 90b, which deals with ona’ah (overreaching), price-gouging, and conduct in the Land of Israel during famine (whether it is permitted or forbidden to leave in such a situation). Among other things, the following baraita is cited there:
“Our rabbis taught: Hoarders of produce, lenders at interest, shrinkers of the ephah, and price-gougers — regarding them the verse says (Amos 8): ‘Saying, When will the new moon be over, that we may sell grain? and the Sabbath, that we may open the barns; to make the ephah small and the shekel great, and to falsify balances of deceit.’ And it is written (Amos 8): ‘The Lord has sworn by the pride of Jacob: Surely I will never forget any of their deeds.’”
The baraita learns from the verses in Amos that there are evil practices that God does not forget forever: lending at interest (“to make the shekel great”), selling at exorbitant prices (“when will the new moon be over, that we may sell grain”), altering measures (“to make the ephah small”), and hoarding produce (“that we may open the barns”). And the Rashbam explains there:
“‘Hoarders of produce’ — those who buy in the market to store and sell at a high price, thereby causing the price to rise and there is loss to the poor. It seems to me this refers to a city whose majority are Jews.”
At first glance, this is precisely what Joseph does in Egypt.
I will not enter here into the details of the sugya (see the essay cited above), and will suffice with several points relevant to us. In that sugya and in the commentators there are distinctions between the Land of Israel and the Diaspora (some prohibitions apply only in the Land). On that basis, one might say that the purpose of the prohibition is to prevent leaving the Land and that there is no moral issue here (a sort of capitalist view). But that sounds rather implausible and is not the plain sense of the verses and sugyot. From the prophetic passion in Amos it is clear that such conduct is also immoral. Beyond that, one can see in the sugya that there is a difference between Jews and gentiles, for interpersonal obligations were stated only regarding Jews (“one who acts as your people”). That could explain Joseph’s actions, insofar as he did this to gentiles. But even so, this is unsatisfying. Joseph was viceroy; part of his role was to ensure proper governance of the kingdom. It is not reasonable, in his position and role, to apply legal rules that erase moral duties toward all non-Jewish residents. Bottom line: this looks very problematic.
One could propose substantive explanations for Joseph’s conduct. For example, perhaps this kind of “feral capitalism” was necessary to manage Egypt’s economic and social life. The fact is that when the Egyptians farmed their own land they failed and fell into famine, whereas when they sold everything to Pharaoh, matters were managed better. That is, this “harshness” brought everyone to a better state, which could be the justification. As noted above, that could also justify Joseph’s mass transfer of the population (to prevent revolt). The question of favoring his brothers at the expense of all the Egyptians, of course, remains. Perhaps the attitude toward gentiles is also the explanation for that. I do not buy it.
Moreover, the fact that all the property remained Pharaoh’s and the Egyptians remained sharecroppers for generations somewhat undermines that explanation. If the purpose was merely to get through the years of famine in the most successful and peaceful manner, Joseph should have restored the status quo once the famine ended.
A Nuanced View
One could address these two difficulties by adopting a “nuanced view” (see on this in columns 29–30, 266, 444, and many others), which renders the search for a moral justification unnecessary. For example, one might claim that Scripture praises Joseph for caring for his brothers and family, but that does not mean he acted correctly. His mistreatment of the Egyptians was immoral, and still he deserves credit for concern for his family. Likewise regarding price-gouging: perhaps he is praised for common sense and effective management, but that does not mean he acted in a morally proper way. On this view, praise of a person does not mean everything about him is perfect, nor even that the act in question was worthy. It may be that he deserves praise for one aspect, which does not contradict criticism of other aspects of the act or the personality in question.
Discussion
The conclusion is that, on the face of it, Joseph acted in a very problematic manner — perhaps even legally, and certainly morally. Some will see the moral explanations I proposed as sufficient answers to these passages. We saw, for example, the distinction between Jews and gentiles, premised on the assumption that the gentiles of old were not deserving of humane and moral treatment. Yet the Bible and Ḥazal praise Abraham greatly for his treatment of Arabs, and so on, which makes this explanation difficult. I remind you that the “Book of the Upright” (i.e., Genesis) deals entirely with the Patriarchs in a gentile environment. It is not plausible that this book aims to teach us that one must be cruel to gentiles, and that this is the moral and “upright” lesson that the Book of the Upright comes to teach. At most, that could explain why we are not dealing here with an immoral act — but it is hard to extract and learn moral lessons from it. Some will even argue that this was appropriate for gentiles then, but not for gentiles in our day (who are restrained by the “manners of the nations” — see, for example, in my essay here, among others). On this interpretive path, there is neither condemnation nor practical adoption of Joseph’s conduct. It was appropriate then; for our times it is irrelevant (an apologetic route people are very fond of). We also saw that there is the possibility that in truth there is no explanation, and that we indeed condemn Joseph for his actions (while praising certain aspects).
But whether we choose to resolve the moral difficulties somehow, or claim that it was right then but not now, or refuse such approaches and condemn Joseph outright for his conduct, there remains a common underlying point shared by those who take all these routes. Note that according to all of them we remain with the same moral stance with which we arrived at the discussion. Those who view such acts as problematic will condemn Joseph or seek a moral reconciliation of his deeds. But in any case, they will ultimately remain with the values they held before studying this passage. Will there be someone who says: “I indeed think these acts are intolerable, but the Joseph passage teaches me that I am mistaken — this is how one ought to act”? Such a person should infer that he must act likewise in his own life. And even if there is someone like that, I have no doubt he is someone who thought so to begin with (that gentiles do not merit humane treatment, and that there is no difference between the gentiles of old and those of today). That is, even he — who seemingly learned a moral lesson from the passage — did not truly extract it from the passage, but at most used it to anchor his prior conceptions. I remind you of what I noted above: if we view the Torah as a source that teaches us moral values, we ought to abandon our moral conceptions and adopt Joseph’s ways in practice. It is very hard for me to imagine someone who behaves like that (unless, as stated, he already thought so beforehand).
Conclusions
The conclusion is that none of us really learns morality from the Torah. We delude ourselves that this is the case. In practice, however, we study a biblical passage and force it to fit the values we believe in. Even if originally those values were drawn from the Torah and our tradition, that is only history. At least today these values are shared worldwide, and therefore at least today one can confidently say that we do not learn moral values from the Torah. So what’s the point of dealing with these passages?!
As I said to someone this past Shabbat, perhaps there is “engagement” with Torah here, but not Torah study. We do the same kind of “study” with Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment or any other book. We always have moral criticism of what happens in the book, and either try to reconcile it or we condemn it. But we will never say that if Dostoevsky wrote so, then I must be wrong and should change the values I believe in. That is precisely how we behave toward the Torah. Therefore, if this is how we engage the Torah, one might say we are “dealing with” Torah, but not that we are learning Torah. We do not learn anything from it.
And again, the questions “So why was it written?” and “What are we supposed to do with these texts?” are good questions for which I have no answers. But none of that changes the fact of the matter — that in practice we do not learn moral values from the Torah. First we must stop denying and deceiving ourselves. We must honestly admit that this is the situation; only then can we try to look for answers.